Emily Shadowhunter - Book 1: VAMPIRE HUNTER

by Small Dog Publishing

  He sensed rather than heard Seth Hil-Nu walk up to his side. Seth was the paramount mage of the Fair-Folk and he, more than any others, had been diminished by the dying of the Life-Light, his magnificent powers waning day by day. In the times before, when the Life-Light was strong, he could have conjured up a raft of fireballs that would have burned the Elven host from the valley.

  He could have brought the mountains down on them or caused a storm of lightning to blast them from existence.

  Now he was simply a source of wisdom, capable of the odd small magik if the circumstances were right.

  ‘Well seen, Seth,’ greeted the commander. ‘Well met, Ammon. How long before battle

  commences?’

  ‘Mere minutes, mage. Mere minutes. Pray tell, can you amplify my voice so that the troops can hear me? I used to be able to do it myself when the Life-Light was strong, but now it is a skill that escapes me.’

  ‘Sad are the times when you have to ask if I can still perform such tiny magiks,’ answered Seth. ‘But yes, I can make you heard. Not through amplification, but they will hear what you say.’

  ‘Thank you, mage.’

  The Elven swarm continued to pour into the valley, running on fast lithe feet. Drawing closer.

  Ammon waited and then, ‘Archers, make ready.’

  The four thousand goblins each lent forward, picked up a dozen or so arrows and planted them, head down, in the turf in front of them, ready for rapid fire.

  ‘Archers, string.’

  Four thousand arrows were notched. ‘Draw.’

  Four thousand bow strings thrummed with tension as the archers drew to full draw and held.

  ‘Rapid fire, now!’

  The average competent goblin archer can unleash an arrow every three seconds. The flight time from archer to target was approximately nine seconds. This meant that, by the time the first four thousand arrows struck, there were already another twelve thousand in the air. Like a swarm of steel tipped locusts, blotting out the sun.

  They struck the Elvin ranks with a sound like hail hitting a cornfield. A thudding and tearing as they punctured flesh and bone. But still the horde ran on, climbing over their dead as they did so.

  Ammon waited until the foes were almost too close for the archers to safely fire at without risking hitting their own troops.

  ‘Archers – cease-fire. Trolls, prepare.’

  The six hundred Trolls stepped forward, each standing over twelve foot tall, weighing in at over nine hundred pounds, ten foot high shield of steel and twenty foot long pikes with massive broad blades. They locked their shields together with a massive clash of steel that reverberated around the valley. Pikes were held over the interlocked shields.

  ‘Trolls, advance.’

  Over five hundred tons of heavily armored muscle shambled forward. Trolls did not, could not, run. Instead they shuffled, feet never leaving the ground. As a result they were always solidly grounded. In an advance such as this, nothing could stand before them A solid wall of sound rolled across the valley as the Trolls crashed into the lightweight Elves. Pikes rose and fell, slicing, cutting, destroying. And slowly, ever so slowly, the Elven hoard was pushed back.

  But not for long. The sheer weight of numbers eventually slowed the advance and then halted it.

  Ammon was ready for this. ‘Orcs, support the advance.’

  The twenty five thousand Orcs ran forward. Not unsheathing their battle-axes. Instead they simply ran into the Trolls, dropping their shoulders and pushing. The Trolls pikes continued to rise and fall, slashing a pathway through the horde. The extra power of the Orcs continued the advance, driving the Elves back, crushing them underfoot, compacting them together so tightly that they could no longer wield their weapons.

  Then, with the timing brought from years of experience, Ammon spoke his next command.

  ‘Orcs, unsheath your weapons. Trolls, unlock your shields. Orcs – attack.’

  Twenty five thousand Orc voices bayed their battle cry as they ran forward through the ranks of the Trolls and into the massed Elves, two-handed battle-swords swinging with abandon, the battle madness on them all.

  ‘Kamateh,’ they cried out their war cry as they hacked and killed.

  ‘Kamateh, kill, kill them all!’

  The Elven horde broke and ran. Darting away like a massive shoal of bait fish before a pack of sharks.

  And commander Ammon gave his last order. ‘Archers, harry them. Fire at will.’

  The Elves retreated under a rain of steel tipped death.

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